Into the Hole
Dupuy hovered over their table at breakfast, to the point that Rio finally said, “Sir. We will leave shortly. We will not shoot up the place or cause you any trouble.” Dupuy wandered off, still looking concerned, and Jack laughed.
“Well, I talked to a couple of Mattie Silk’s girls’ last night, and one of them remembered Stiles mentioning the Hole, so that’s probably where you’ll find them. They might take a job with Herrera or Jarvie, if either is hiring. Otherwise, they’d probably hide out in one of the shacks or dugouts up there.” He poured another cup of coffee and asked, “You got a spare horse or a packhorse?”
Rio shook his head glumly. “No, I guess I’ll have to buy them today. It’s what, a week, maybe two from here to the Hole?”
Jack waggled his hand. “At least a week. Depends on whether we get early snow. Two weeks at the outside. The way they told me was up Clear Creek to the falls, then up that canyon to Wolford Mountain, then follow Pass Creek up to the flats, then turn west. Cross the Yampa, then the Little Snake and follow Vermillion Creek down the valley into the Hole. Oh, and I’ve got a packhorse, so you only need a spare.”
Rio grumbled his thanks, thinking of what he needed, and wondered if he had enough money on him to pay for everything. “Since Dupuy is so attentive, maybe we can get him to stake us to some grub. Say we meet back here in two hours. That should give me enough time to go get what I need. You need forty-fours?”
Jack nodded. “I’m down to one box left.”
Two hours later and a lot poorer, Rio tied Red to the hitching rail and moved the reins of the line back dun to the hitching rail, tying him beside Red. “No biting Red. He’s your relief, so be nice.” He lifted the sack off the saddle and started for the hotel when Jack rode up with two horses in trail. He turned and dropped the sack on the boardwalk. “Spare forty-four, forty-five, two bags of tobacco, and three bags of Arbuckle’s.” He rooted around and pulled out two cans. “And peaches and apples.” He reached in and pulled out a union suit and a pair of socks. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, then we’ll approach Mr. Dupuy about some food.”
He came back down to find Jack chuckling and tying off the load on the pack mule. “What’s so funny?”
“You don’t have to worry about Dupuy. I guess he saw you going upstairs, and he come running out wanting to know what we needed. Told him, and he had the cooks put together a couple of week’s worth of food. We got bacon, beans, dried apples, more Arbuckle’s, flour, salt, pepper, and some beef we’ll need to cook tonight.”
Rio laughed. “Think they want to get rid of us? I know the livery owner wanted the dun gone. Apparently he’s not used to Texas horses.”
Jack smiled. “Yeah, noticed the Pitchfork brand. Any idea what happened to his rider?”
“Apparently got in a fight with some miners over a soiled dove. He didn’t survive it.”
“Oh.” Jack swung up on his horse and said, “Well, we’re burning daylight here. Let’s make tracks.” Rio swung up without a word and followed Jack as he trotted out of town, heading down the canyon. They rode in silence, switching horses every two hours, and topped out on Jones’ Pass as the sun started dropping in the west. Jack nodded toward the trail ahead of them then said, “We should be able to make it down to Bobtail Creek, we can camp there. Supposedly there’s good grass there.”
Rio arched his back with a grimace. “Sounds good. I’m tired, Red’s tired, and the dun is not doing much better.” An hour later, they reached the bottom of the canyon and found a little bench above the creek with grass and a combination of spruce and fir trees. “Camp back in the trees? I don’t think the Utes are out, but I don’t want to chance anything.”
Jack unsaddled his horses and staked them on the bench, then led the packhorse back under the evergreens. “Makes sense. The injuns should be headed to winter camp, but you never know what they are thinking.”
Rio grunted as he swung Red’s saddle down. “Yep. Dammit, Red. Stand still!” He pulled the saddle blanket off and pushed him. “Go roll. I know that’s what you’re gonna do.” Red whinnied at him, then promptly rolled on the grass, all four hooves in the air, twisting with pleasure. The dun pawed the grass, and Rio sighed. “You too? What is it with Texas horses and rolling in the dirt?”
Jack laughed. “Who knows? I’ll get a fire going and get the meat and beans on.”
“And Arbuckle’s.”
Jack pitched the coffee pot to him. “Water.” Rio caught it, then took the reins for both horses and led them down to the creek. Dipping water above where they were drinking, he relieved himself after they finished, and led them back up to the camp.
“Here ya go, Jack. Picket line the horses?”
Jack nodded as he kindled the fire. “Makes sense. I’d rather keep them close.”
Rio took his lasso off the saddle, picked two trees far enough apart that the horses wouldn’t be crowded, and tied the lasso between them. He pulled out two hackamores, put one on each horse, and tied them to the lasso, then asked, “Where are your hackamores?”
Jack jerked a thumb to the pack saddle lying on the ground. “Right side. Poke in the back of the little pack.” Rio finished picketing the horses and shivered as the temperature continued to drop. He stepped a little further back in the brush and saw a bunch of low bushes with purple berries on them.
He picked a couple, sniffed them and crushed them, then touched the juice to the tip of his tongue, Damn! Blueberries, and big ones too! He picked a double handful, stuffing them in his jacket pocket, then took them back to the fire, spilling them in the pan with the fry bread mix. “Found a couple of blueberry bushes up there. Maybe add a little sugar if we’ve got it?”
Jack nodded and he took care to lay out his bedroll under the firs, then came back to the fire. Rubbing his hands, he said, “Lot colder up here than down in Denver.” He touched the coffee pot and winced as it burned his fingers. He went back and pulled a cup out of his saddlebags, then used one leg of his shotgun chaps to pick up the pot and pour a cup.
Jack flipped the steaks and stirred the little pot with the beans, then sat back on his heels. “I think we can make it afore it snows.” He took a deep breath. “Never did like the altitude up here. Hard to breathe and hard to work. And it wears the horses out in a hurry.” He took the little pan with the fry bread mix and blueberries added a little water, and set it on the rocks beside the fire.
Rio nodded as he sipped the coffee. “Up here, the number of horses in the remuda just about double. Although they apparently do breed some mountain ponies up here. Smaller, but with bigger barrels. They seem to handle it better than flatland horses.” He took the plate Jack handed him, pulled his knife out of the sheath, and set to on the steak. “Good job on the steaks and beans.”
“De Nada.” Jack ate his straight out of the pan, along with the beans, burped and poured a cup of coffee.
Rio picked up the pan and plate, went down to the creek and washed them with sand, rinsed them, and brought them back and set them by the fire to dry. He poured one more cup of coffee and leaned back against his saddle. “We need a watch tonight? I know Red will wake me up if anything gets close.”
Jack shook his head as he repacked the pack saddle. “Naw, my horse is the same way. We’re gonna be moving pretty good, so get what sleep you can.”
Rio took a last sip of coffee, flipped the grounds out, and stuffed the cup back in his saddlebags. Yawning, he said, “Okay.” He took off his boots, set his hat on top of them, and rolled up in his bedroll, feet toward the pocket-sized fire. Jack wasn’t far behind him, and the fire soon burned down to a few dim coals. Wolves howled in the distance, but neither woke up, nor did the horses respond.
The next morning, Rio shook the frost off his bedroll and grumped, “Too early to be this cold.”
Jack replied, “Another reason to get where we’re going. Your turn to cook.”
Rio scrambled out of his bedroll, shook his boots out and stomped quickly into them. He checked the horses, then took care of business back under the trees, before he dug in the pack and pulled out the coffeepot. Walking down to the creek, he rinsed his face in the ice cold water, shivered, and stomped back to the camp. There weren’t any coals left, so he had to restart the fire, and he finally set the coffeepot in the fire’s edge saying, “Gonna water the horses.”
Jack was up by the time he got back and moved the horses to a new picket line while Rio cooked some bacon and fry bread. Jack looked at him speculatively. “Why are you after these guys? Ranchers lose cows all the time.”
Rio handed him a plate and poured more coffee as he watched the fry bread. He finally said, “Because those sumbitches killed one of my…partners. Bear Molina was…well, he was a mountain man. Crazy as a loon, damn near seventy, maybe more. He’d roamed these mountains since he was a kid. He…didn’t particularly like bears. Shot ever one he saw. He was a loner and down at a line cabin by himself.” He scrubbed his face and shot a look at Jack. “And they shot him in the back. He didn’t even get a chance to face them. From the wound, I’m guessing they shot him with a rifle, not a pistol. And they left him lay.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “Yep, they deserve to die for that. No wonder you ain’t sayin’ much about the money owed.”
Rio took a bite of the fry bread and sighed. “Naw, this ain’t about money anymore. You don’t shoot my partner and get away with it. You gotta fork your own bronc, you know that.” Jack took the skillet and coffeepot to the creek, washed them, and loaded them in the pack on the packhorse as Rio cleaned up the camp. Saddling up, they rode north into a chill wind, under a cloudless sky. The smell of evergreens permeated the air, and Rio chuckled. “Sure as hell don’t smell like Texas.”
Jack laughed. “Never got over around Lufkin did you?”
“Nope. Furthest east I’ve been was Fort Worth, and that was only once.”
***
Six days later, they finally descended into yet another valley, and Jack said, “This should be Vermillion Creek. We should be there tomorrow.”
“Good. My butt is flat, and I’m not sure Red isn’t trying to throw a shoe. I don’t think we have any spares in the pack, do we?”
“Naw, that’s…not something I brought. But I think we can get him shoed in the Hole. Mexican Joe will probably be there, and I think he’s running cows, so he’s probably got some shoes.”
They stopped to eat the last of the venison from the buck Rio had shot two days ago, and Jack boiled a pot of coffee as Rio checked Red’s shoes. “Dammit. I’m going to change to the dun and ride him the rest of the way. Ain’t worth taking a chance. Speaking of chances, how are we going to get in there? You’re known, I’m not.”
Jack chuckled. “If I introduce you as the Laredo Kid, you’re known, and they’ll accept you.”
Rio hung his head. “Dammit, I don’t want to be…that’s not who I am.”
“You want to die? They don’t let people in who aren’t outlaws. If you ain’t known, or recognized, they just shoot you. That’s why no lawman comes up here. Like you said, you fork your own bronc. And they got a rule against shooting somebody lessen’ they need it.”
Rio groused, “They damn well need it. And I’m gonna do it.” And I wonder what Jack would do if he found that badge in my saddlebags. Or what anybody else would do…no, I know what they’d do. Shoot me. Just gotta hope nobody finds out.
They camped at a bend in the Green River just before the canyon narrowed down. “We want to go the rest of the way in daylight. They probably got guards in the canyon, and they’d shoot you if you try it at night.”
They camped out in the open once again, picketing the horses with pins, since there weren’t any trees close. Rio had trouble going to sleep, instead staring at the night sky and all the stars in view, Is this my last night on this earth? I’m tired of killing, but I’ve got it to do. I’ve got a life to go back to. At some point, he dropped off to sleep and slept until he heard Jack cussing as he crawled out of his bedroll. “Damn! It’s cold!” Rio sat up to see a light dusting of snow on the bedroll and shook his head. He got up quickly, got the fire started, and walked down to the river bank to get some water for the coffee.
The cold water shocked him awake, and he vigorously scrubbed his face and arms, then quickly slipped his jacket back on. The scant piece of bacon, the last piece of venison, and the little bit of flour left all went in the pan, and he mumbled, “I wonder if they have chickens? I’d really like an egg, and a glass of milk.”
Jack smiled as he walked up to the fire. “Pretty sure you can’t get milk out of a chicken. That kinda takes a cow.”
Rio looked up at him. “Huh?”
“You said eggs and milk from a chicken.”
Rio shook his head, adding, “And a damn bath. I stink.” Jack laughed but said nothing as he poured a cup of coffee. Rio dished up the concoction and asked, “What are we going to do when we get…there.”
Jack shrugged. “See if there is any work available, we can punch cows or wrangle horses. If not, go find a dugout that’s not occupied. We can hunt, and if worse comes to worst, we’ve got horses we can sell.”
“Or I can kill the bastards and just ride out.”
“Maybe. If it’s a fair fight, if it’s not, they’ll shoot you down on the spot.”
Rio looked up. “Honor among thieves?”
“More like self-enforcement. If you know you’ll get killed for doing something stupid, that tends to make even these people stop and think.”
They finished the coffee, cleaned the dishes, and packed up the horses. Kicking dirt over the coals, Rio loosened his pistols in their holsters, and unbuttoned his jacket. “Let’s get this over with.”
***
Four hours and two challenges later, they rode down toward the small group of cabins on a bench above the Green River. Smoke rose from most of the chimneys, and they saw a few cowboys herding some shorthorn cattle toward a set of pole corrals on the other side of the river. Jack pointed to one rider sitting off to the side. “That’s Mexican Joe. I don’t see Stiles or Harvey in that bunch.”
No sooner had he said that, than the rider turned his horse and trotted toward the ford, splashing across and riding toward them. Rio saw a squat Mexican, hair going grey, with a drooping moustache, riding with the casual elegance typical of vaqueros like Juan. He stopped in front of them and nodded to Jack, “Tejas Jack. You in trouble again?”
Jack wagged his hand. “Not so much. Just tired of shooting people who are stupid.”
Joe looked at Rio. “Who’s this?”
Jack smiled. “Joe, this is the Laredo Kid.”
“Laredo Kid? I don’t hear you went outlaw.” Joe sat back in his saddle, as if bracing for trouble.
Rio instantly decided to tell the truth. “I’m looking for the men that killed my partner, Bear Molina, by shootin’ him in the back. Buck Stiles and Jack Harvey also stole the cows Bear was watching while I was in town buying supplies.”
Joe looked angrily at Rio. “How I know you know Bear?”
Rio replied calmly, “Because I’ve seen the scars on his belly and leg. I’ve seen him hobble anytime he’s… he was not on a horse. I’ve seen him shoot any bear he saw, and he told me that every claw on his necklace was a bear he’d killed.”
Joe started to say something, but Rio continued relentlessly, “He was from Chihuahua and originally came north as a horse herder for one of the Spanish trains. He stayed and worked with the US Army after he went back home and found his family had been wiped out by the Apache.”
Joe held up a hand. “I…you knew Bear. I did not know he was dead. Bear…he helped me a few times, driving horses up here.” He shook his head. “Stiles and Harvey are here. They do not work, they buy food from Cruz and his wife. They are staying in a dugout north of the bend in the river.”
Three days went by without a sign of either Stiles or Harvey, while Jack and Rio picked up some work rebranding cows. Bolen, a rustler who worked for Mexican Joe, was a wizard with a cinch ring, and it amazed Rio at how quickly he could change brands, even to the point of making them look as aged or off center as the original brand he worked over. They had been roping and throwing cows all day, and Rio was tired, grumpy, and stank as they let the last cow up. “I don’t care how cold the water is, I’m going to go clean up. I can’t even stand myself at this point.”
Jack laughed and said, “I don’t know which is worse, you or the cows, but it’ll be nice to sleep with the door closed for a change.”
Rio slapped Jack’s horse and got him bucking as he headed back to the old cabin they were sharing. “Ride ‘em, cowboy,” Jack barely stayed in the saddle and cursed Rio the rest of the way back to the cabin but stayed well away from him. An hour later, blue and shivering, Rio stomped back into the cabin. “Damn! That water’s cold! What the hell do they do when the river freezes up?”
Jack looked up. “Well, most of ‘em don’t bathe anyway, so they don’t care. But I don’t know a cowboy out there that doesn’t hate having to chop a hole in the ice for the cows. What are you going to do about your clothes, other than leave them outside?”
“I hear Cruz’s wife will wash them. These are my last clean ones, well mostly clean. Which cabin are they in?”
Jack got up and sniffed. “Much better. I think I know which one. We can walk down there.”
Rio buckled his pistols on, checked the thongs, and picked up his dirty clothes. “Let’s go. Somebody down there was cooking something that smelled good, and I’ll buy supper, if they’ll sell some to us.”
Jack slipped his jacket on and headed out the door. “Good! You owe me for that little bucking incident.” They walked down the hill from the cabin toward the five cabins a hundred yards away, discussing what to do to smoke out Stiles and Harvey. They were about twenty yards away when two men came out of one of the cabins, and Jack stopped. “Well, looks like we won’t have to smoke them out. That’s Stiles on the left.”
